Raising The Bar: The Worst Bars In America, Part 1

New York is a huge city. It's got a lot of great shit in it... like awesome food, hilarious weirdos on the subway and giant monster Rat Kings.

Since it's so big, it's inevitable that it's also got a lot of shitty shit in it... like pretentious, self serious richie riches and their fugly whore girlfriends. These cock faced anus ninjas and their disease-ridden prostitutes are a plague on NYC. They are beastly killer bee-like creatures who have descended to New York from their hives of Jersey and LA (and any "scenester" enclave in-between) and they descend upon good, valuable, fun parts of town and transform them into puss-filled sores that infect women and children with scary diseases.

They also open annoying, shitty bars. The Delancey is one of these bars. Yick.

The Delancey's main problem is that it doesn't know what it wants to be. It's a three storied space with a velvet rope and bouncer standing outside the front door, so at first you think, ah, it's a club. But the three floors are all pretty small, there's no dance music playing and it's almost always empty. So it's not a club. It's just a shitty bar that has the fucking balls to charge a cover.

The identity crisis doesn't end there. The place is, like I said, pretty small. It's an average sized New York bar, with a counter and a few benches scattered around. But for some reason, they take reservations. So if you wander into the completely empty space on, say, Saturday at around 10 PM, don't expect to be able to sit down... the four benches and the entire upstairs and downstairs are "reserved." For whom? What loser is reserving a bench in a douchey bar that's next to a McDonalds and two blocks from a somewhat sketchy hispanic housing project?

If you decide you're okay with standing and enter the bar anyways, you're still going to be greeted with fantastic annoyances. For one, when you ask "What's on tap?" be prepared to be answered with an eye roll. There IS nothing on tap. Great. And, since there are no beer or drink menus around, when you inevitably ask "What beers DO you have?" expect more attitude. When I was there last, the hag demon weasel bar tendress simply POINTED at the bottles of beer behind her when I asked that. Bitch, that's like 20 feet away from me and your "mood lighting" is set on "midnight." So I had to put her in her "you work in one of the worst bars in America" place: "I'm sorry, you're gonna have to read off the entire list of drinks for me. Thanks."

She rattled off a list of domestic crap that any college bar would have and I stopped her when she got to Red Stripe, the BEST beer in their selection (psshaw). "I'll have a Red Stripe, thanks."

"That'll be six fifty." You whore. I better get a hand job with that.

Thanks to the bars vicious combination of an identity crisis, no beers on tap and a staff with both severe attitude problems and severe mental retardation, The Delancey finds its way onto our list of the WORST BARS IN AMERICA!